


homecoming (is a crash, sometimes)

by ultalumna (yujael)



Series: and they told us we couldn't live like this [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gen, Illnesses, friends don't let friends be sick on their couch alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:58:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18104453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujael/pseuds/ultalumna
Summary: After months on the road, Ignis finally comes home--and immediately gets sick. But now, for the first time in months, he is not alone.





	homecoming (is a crash, sometimes)

**Author's Note:**

> This snippet was referenced in Prompto's photo album in "it's just you and me," and falls within chapter two of that story in terms of chronology.

Ignis wakes up feeling raw. His head is heavy, his ribs tight. His joints ache as if he’s somehow aged thirty years, which is somewhat concerning because at most, he usually only feels like he’s aged about ten or so years in the past few months. On top of that, his throat is sore and feels like it could crack and split like dry skin when he swallows.

He swallows again just to see if perhaps the pain is a one-time thing. It is not. Blast.

He reaches over to find the medication stuffed in the side pocket of his bag, which he left in the passenger seat.

Only, when he reaches over his hand immediately meets soft resistance.

Because he’d gotten a trailer for the night, of course. His bag is on the floor next to his bed.

He reaches for the floor and finds nothing but hardwood, which is a strange thing for a trailer to have. He doesn’t remember paying for that.

Ignis finally opens his eyes because that’s the only path left if he’s going to solve the mystery of where his cold and flu medication is, and he very nearly regrets it right off the bat. There’s a light on down the hall and it might as well be a dagger driven into his skull. He closes his eyes again to shore up his resolve.

At which point he realizes that the trailer shouldn’t have a hallway, either, so he opens his eyes again and looks around.

A very large chair captures his attention immediately because it is far too large to be able to fit in a trailer, which is the first clue that he is not, in fact, in such a place. In reality, he’s lying on a couch angled almost perpendicular to the giant chair. Between him and it is a coffee table and a small television, next to which is a bookshelf piled with cheap knick-knacks.

Prompto bought the ceramic tide grouper in the middle of it all for Noctis a few weeks ago. This is the little tidbit that launches the rest of Ignis’ memories at him at full force.

He’s not in the Nocturna, nor is he in a tent or a trailer. He’s in Noctis’ living room. Noctis’ and Prompto’s living room, rather.

There’s a clink from the kitchen, where the light is coming from, and then Prompto appears in the hallway, a physical confirmation. He spots Ignis immediately and tiptoes over, all smiles and waves. Looking at him is marginally better than looking at an actual light source.

“Hey, good morning, dude!” Prompto says in a low voice. Judging by the dimness of the room, it is far too early to be speaking in any volume louder than a whisper, for which Ignis is grateful. “Did you have a good night?”

Ignis shuffles through his memories briefly. His night had started off relaxing, more or less. And then Noctis had thrown his door open--the trailer’s door, rather--and all but picked him up and carried him back to this very couch. Things settled down again rather quickly, but only after Noctis made it clear that he'd be very unimpressed if Ignis set so much as a toe into any other place of rest.

The parts of Ignis that want very much for nobody to see that he had, in fact, begun to struggle are more or less smothered by the warmth in Noctis’ gruff attitude.

The only problem is that he has woken up like… this.

He sits up with what he believes to be no trouble, but when he next looks up at Prompto’s face, there’s a furrow in his brow and a slight downturn in his lips. He leans over the back of the couch to press his fingers against Ignis’ forehead.

“Oh, man, Iggy,” he says quickly. “You’re burning up a little. Hold on a sec, we’ve got some stuff.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Ignis says.

Or, he tries to, except his throat isn’t quite agreeing with his words and Prompto is only spurred into further action. He darts into the washroom and then the kitchen and returns with his hands full of pills and a cup of water, all of which he very nearly shoves into Ignis’ hands. Then he just stands there, waiting.

Ignis downs the medicine with as much poise as he can manage and then stands up.

And once again, he tries but is unsuccessful. Prompto puts a hand on his shoulder and presses back and Ignis should probably be somewhat ashamed of how quickly he goes back down.

“You should get a little more sleep,” Prompto says gently. “It’s still way early.”

“Was Noct not scheduled for work in the morning?” Ignis asks. He remembers this detail very clearly and Prompto should, too.

“Uh, yeah, but you’re sick.” Prompto's tone suggests that he thinks that’s supposed to have actual bearing on Ignis’ habits. “Leave breakfast to me, Iggy. I was gonna go for a run, but I’ll totally handle this one.”

“You should get your exercise in,” Ignis says, attempting once more to stand up again. This time, Prompto lets him get as far as the opposite end of the couch before he slides into Ignis’ path, making passage practically impossible. With so little available floor space, Ignis’ only other option is climbing over the couch, and just thinking about it is taxing on his knees in their current condition.

“And you should get some rest,” Prompto counters as he backs Ignis into the couch again. “Astrals, I can’t believe all the logic and sense I’ve been dishing out recently.”

“Must be making up for something,” Ignis says dryly. He half regrets it when he sees Prompto’s expression flatten. His eyes unfocus and his lips tighten, which are only a couple of the most obvious tells for when he’s trying to hide what he feels. Ignis does not apologize. He deserves this moment of pique. “Go for your run, Prompto. I will ensure Noctis has a meal before he leaves.”

Ignis expects that to be that.

A few months ago, it would have been.

Now, however, Prompto does a curious thing. His shoulders drop and he lets out a quiet sigh--but when he puts both hands on Ignis’ own shoulders and directs him to the couch again, his grip is like solid stone. Again, Ignis goes down.

“Y’know,” he says, even softer this time. “Noctis got sick almost as soon as we moved in here, too. Like, day three, as soon as I got a job, he got bowled over by some bug or something. You know what I think it was?”

“No,” Ignis answers tersely. He does have a few guesses--most likely, Noctis simply caught a strain of a common illness that vaccines inside the Crown City weren’t designed for. Noctis’ immune system is robust, however, and Ignis sees very little reason to worry about it now. He also doesn’t see what Noctis’ illness from months ago has to do with their current conversation. He says as much to Prompto, who reaches over and fluffs the pillow that Ignis had been using.

“Stress,” he says with a shrug. “It just caught up to him, you know? He finally got to a place where he could slow down and stop and just… be. And then his body caught wind of that and decided it was time to get over some of the ickiness that he’d been fighting off.”

Ignis closes his eyes for a few seconds. When he opens them again it isn’t without some effort. Perhaps it’s a side effect of the medication, or of the warmth in Prompto’s voice. Either way, his muscles feel too weak to hold him upright for much longer, let alone get him to the kitchen despite how close it is.

Prompto tells him to lay back down, and he does.

“I’m gonna refill this cup,” Prompto says, holding the glass in question up. “Are you gonna get up again or nah?”

Ignis sighs and shakes his head. He closes his eyes again and is ready to insist that it isn’t because they’re stinging. When Prompto returns, though, he says nothing of it. He only sets the glass of water on the coffee table next to Ignis glasses.

“Get some rest, Iggy,” he says softly. “Let Noct and I handle things for a bit, okay?”

“I apologize,” Ignis murmurs. He has to fight the heavy warmth under his head and over his body, the pull of sleep, to get all his words out. “For my words, earlier.”

“It’s fine, man.” Prompto chuckles a little in that self-deprecating way that tells Ignis that it isn’t fine. “I earned that one. Want another blanket?”

“No,” Ignis replies. He’s muffled by his descent into sleep. “Thank you, Prompto.”

 

*

 

He does not wake again for four hours, and so he does not know for the same amount of time that Noctis has pushed his shift at the beach onto someone else so that he can bundle Ignis up in a blanket in the big chair and then pretend that he isn’t watching Ignis like a hawk.

Ignis almost insists that the thermometer and the damp cloth are not entirely necessary seeing as he already knows what he needs to recover, especially when Prompto snaps a picture of him in his nest of blankets, but then Prompto reveals a bowl of hearty soup in his other hand, and Ignis finds that his throat, again, will not cooperate with his voice.

And so, for a day--or two--he allows himself to fall under the care of his friends.


End file.
